Gone

The scraggly guitars and muscular rhythms of Gone's louder moments seem designed to sell the idea that, when the good girls don't, Keren just might. But didn't Bree Sharp already give listeners a brassier version of "Boy on T.V."? Bree even named names ("David Duchovny, why won't you love me..."). Likewise, for all its window rattling and triumphant chord changes, "W.I.S., Pt. 2" sounds a lot like Hilary Duff's G-rated popternative nugget "Come Clean." It's that meticulously arranged, highly salable sound, popularized by people like Avril Lavigne and Michelle Branch with the aid of producers like the Matrix or John Shanks, that becomes the main thrust of Gone. There are ballads here, too, where contemplative guitars pluck over scattered drum programming and atmospheric swirls of synth; Keren herself is in there, but where? "Wake me when you're gone," she sings on the midtempo title track, and the mixture of anger and hurt in her voice is real. But then there are the empty lyrics and general racket of "Save Me," and the percolating electronic bottom end of "Daydreams & Lies" — where Keren's breathy pitch and filtered backing harmonies could be any post-Britney hair-dye diva — and Gone becomes a peculiar jumble of things listeners have heard before. This wouldn't be so bad of a thing — there's nothing wrong with grabbing a little of the spotlight, after all. It's just that, despite writing credits throughout and a back story heralding Keren's determination and desire to rock, Gone's slick sonics and sound-alike brand positioning make it feel like she settled for opportunism.